


i could kiss you for hours (and not miss a thing)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coulson has a lot of feelings, Coulson's huge crush on Skye, Crushes, F/M, Mutual Pining, Phil Coulson & Melinda May Friendship, Phil Coulson: human disaster, Skye's huge crush on Coulson, Slow Burn, background Andrew Garner/Melinda May, kiss me because I like it, kiss me for the mission, secret agent kissing, these pining orphan babes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know there are other cover options, right? Like, I could probably have talked us out of it. It's like the only covers you know are from watching bad spy movies."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Skye's started kissing Coulson during undercover missions. It's perfectly decent cover. It's a problem, maybe. It's not like Coulson's really thinking about it.</p>
<p>Okay, he's thinking about it a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i could kiss you for hours (and not miss a thing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nausicaa_of_phaeacia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/gifts), [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts), [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts), [AMidnightVoyage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMidnightVoyage/gifts).



The first time it happens, they're undercover.

Coulson and Skye are working together on more missions than they used to. He understands why - Skye's ambivalent on bringing others in on the Caterpillar work - but getting used to a new field partner always takes some time. Skye's  _good_ , though. May trained her, of course, so in some ways it's like the old days, working with May, just two field agents against the world. 

In other ways, Skye's very different. She uses her powers in a seamless mix with hand-to-hand combat, rushes into every situation, is apparently idiot-fearlessness personified. Coulson kind of feels like maybe the latter part is what it was like working with  _him_ as a field agent. He suddenly feels a lot more empathy for every partner he's been assigned with.

They're at a fancy gala, and they're supposed to wait for at least an hour before investigating the lower levels of the house for evidence that the host has been trafficking people with powers, which is why Coulson is so unsurprised that after forty-five minutes Skye disappears, in a flutter of lace. He catches up with her in the hallway, frowns admonishment, but she just grins, smooths her hands down her skirt.

"How'm I supposed to do spy stuff in this, huh," she mutters, and Coulson can't help it, looks her up and down.

"I think you look good," he offers, and she grins wider.

"Yeah, well, it'll be better once I can take these damn shoes off," she grouses, leads him further down the hallway and begins work on hacking the lock. "At least their security is, like,  _the easiest_ to crack. Don't they know we've got computer genius hacktivists on our team, huh." Coulson snorts with laughter which is abruptly cut off as he hears footsteps at the end of the hallway.

"Someone's about to come past," he warns, in a low whisper.

"Yeah, I've almost got it, don't worry," Skye replies.

"We don't have time for  _almost_ ," he says, urgently. Skye blows air at him, continues with her work. "Seriously, Skye, we-"

"Kiss me," she says, and yeah, that takes his breath away.

"What?" he manages, and Skye rolls her eyes, grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him in. Her lips are cool against his; she kisses him lightly, impersonally, but enough to fake what looks like passion to the person walking by. Coulson hears them chuckle, and Skye opens her eyes - when did she close them? - to watch them over his shoulder. 

"It's clear, I think," she breathes against his mouth. "Keep the cover, though, I can do the rest with my hands behind my back. Literally." She steps backward until her shoulders hit the door, pulls him back into her space, seals her mouth back over his, and Coulson's a good enough agent that he understands the play. It's inconspicuous - "couple canoodling in hallway" hides the work she's doing on the door lock - and the hallway's not exactly deserted. He's still surprised, though, by Skye's mouth on his, by the warm press of her body.

Voices sound at the end of the hall, and yeah, it's a good cover, he has to admit. Skye's fiddling with the lock, obviously distracted, and Coulson picks up the slack, pushes his metal hand up on the door and wraps the other around her waist, leans in to whisper in her ear. " _Any time now_ , Agent," he hisses, and she laughs, kisses him again, and this time her mouth's open, her tongue brushing hot across his lower lip for the briefest moment.

"Got it," she smiles, clicks the lock, pulls them both back into the open door. Then she's all business again, searching the basement, and they find enough evidence that her jaw goes tight with anger, her fingers curling into fists. Coulson knows that's Skye working hard not to bring the whole house down in a quake, and his own hands twitch in sympathy. He can't tear the place apart like a natural disaster but he could definitely do some punching right now. Instead they photograph everything, document it all, lock it back up and rejoin the party like nothing's happened. This is a stealth mission, Coulson knows, but he wants to burn it to the ground.

" _Such_ a lovely party," Skye tells their host with effervescently vapid enthusiasm, and it's all Coulson can do to nod, agree, escort her out with a hand pressed lightly to the bare skin of her lower back.

It's not until they've returned to base and Skye throws herself down into an armchair, kicks off her shoes, stares into space, that he lets himself think about it. He brings her a hot drink; mission reports can wait until tomorrow. She's still in her lace gown, but she looks very tired.

"How can they  _do_ that," she says eventually, taking a deep breath. "How can they- do _that_ , and host a glitzy party just above it, like it means nothing. Just- promise we'll take them down, Phil?"

"Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, we'll take them down." She smiles, briefly, gets up and smooths her dress down again.

"I'm going to bed," she yawns. "Don't stay up late on those reports, okay?" She sleepily brushes a kiss to his cheek, disappears off to her bunk, and Coulson's left sitting in the lounge by himself, staring at her abandoned high heels. It's not the mission-cover kissing that he's thinking about. It's her lips quick and warm and intimate pressed to his cheek. He wants that  _every_ night.

 

+

 

The second time it happens, they're not undercover. They're not even on  _mission_. They're just walking down a street in Brooklyn, having dropped a recently-transformed Inhuman teenager home, and Skye's trying to convince him to buy them ice cream.

"Why would I buy you an ice cream," he says, because he loves to wind her up.

"Phil, come on, it's a lovely day, and Kendra is safe and sound at home with her family, and we've got the  _whole afternoon_  away from the base. Live a little!" Skye teases, pokes him in the ribs, pops a stick of Big Red gum in her mouth.

"You know it's still Director, even when we're off base," he reminds her, and then Skye's eyes widen, and she pushes him up against a building, shakes her hair out looser, slams her mouth onto his. It's a harder kiss this time, and she wraps her body around him more, blocks him from view. "Sky-" he mutters into her mouth, and she pushes into him harder, holds him still. She kisses with intent, her mouth lush and hot and her tongue sliding across his lip to press into his mouth just a little. He's almost startled enough to kiss back. A few moments pass, and she relaxes, steps away slightly.

"You kissed me," he says, a little stunned. Skye shrugs, looks around the corner, nods imperceptibly. "I'm guessing Hydra?"

"Captain America, actually," she laughs. "Steve Rogers still thinks you're dead, right? Figured you maybe didn't want to explain that right now."

"...Right," Coulson agrees. "I forgot he'd probably be back in Brooklyn. There were probably  _other ways_ to deal with it, though."

"I thought on my feet, okay?" Skye says, a little defensively. "Sorry, was it-"

"It's fine," Coulson replies, quickly. "Mission parameters. It's fine. Thanks for the assist." Skye nods, runs her fingers through her hair, raises her eyebrows at him.

"So, ice cream?" she asks again, and he laughs, checks his watch.

"I guess we do have all afternoon," he says faux-reluctantly. "There used to be this great little artisan ice cream shop near here. I wonder if it still exists. Hopefully it didn't get, you know, blown up during the Battle of New York."

"Yes!" Skye cheers, tucks her hand into the crook of his arm. "Lead the way, Director. You know you're buying, right?"

"Oh  _what_ ," he complains, and she leans into him.

"I saved you from explaining your death and resurrection to your own personal hero, I think that deserves ice cream, right?" she counters. Coulson sighs dramatically. He's totally going to pay for the ice cream, he can tell.

He's not thinking about the way Skye kissed him hard and intense. He's considering how it feels to have Skye's hand pressed against his arm, about what it'd be like if she slid her hand down to take his, their fingers entwined. They could walk hand in hand down a Brooklyn street. He doesn't know what that would be like, but he thinks he wants to find out. He can still taste cinnamon in his mouth.

 

+

 

Coulson doesn't expect it to keep happening, because "we're secret agents who have to kiss each other a lot" is not something that  _actually happens_ except in, he doesn't know, his imagination. Or Hunter's world, he supposes, but that's different. In any case, they get through a variety of exciting Hydra missions, and it's fine, it's all fine, they're both perfectly professional human beings. He doesn't  _miss_ it. That would be stupid, and anyway, it's mission parameters, tactics, it's not like it meant anything.

(The cheek kissing and the hand holding and the meaningful looks,  _that_ means something, he thinks, but that's been him and Skye forever, so he doesn't really know what it means. He's twice her age, he reminds himself, and pulls it together.)

Then security goons who might or might not be Hydra show up on what's supposed to be a very straight-forward reconnaissance, and he's not even wearing tactical gear, and Skye gets a look on her face that says,  _you're not getting shot on my watch, sir_.

She pushes him into a corner with a fairly minimal amount of cover, her bulletproof vest a hard surface against his chest, and presses her mouth up against his ear. "Think they'll buy a bit of obvious PDA and leave us be?" she murmurs, and he laughs, because no, they probably won't. "Right then," she says. "Gun's in my holster. You can grab it from here, right?"

"Yeah," he says, "but this is ridiculous, you can't cover me with your own tac vest." Skye sighs, presses in closer.

"I was worried you'd say that. Why are we not putting more research into making you a bulletproof suit, huh, since you're such an idiot," she mutters. Then the first possibly-Hydra agent rounds the corner, sights them and starts shooting immediately, and Coulson doesn't have the time to argue, just grabs her gun and lands a clean shot.

"Good work," Skye breathes, brushes her lips to his neck so lightly he thinks he's imagined it. "But at least stick behind me, okay." Then the rest of the contingent is moving in on them, and yeah, they're pretty trigger-happy. This could have been better, Coulson thinks. Skye turns around, flings the air at them, and he's never not impressed by that move, because they go flying backward, and they don't get up again.

It's not until they're clearing out that he sees the bloom of red across Skye's shoulder, and when he does, his vision goes white for a second.

"Have you been  _shot_?" he demands, and Skye looks down at it, shrugs it off.

"Only a little bit shot," she replies, "don't worry, it's fine, it's just a graze. I'm lucky they were terrible shots." Coulson is  _totally worried_ , because a, his partner's been  _shot_ and b, this isn't the first time Skye's taken a bullet, and traumatic memories, okay. "Coulson," she says, sharper. "Seriously, it's fine, I promise, I'm not bleeding out, you can patch me up as soon as we get back to base." That feels like a long time away, but Coulson trusts her, and she does look fine, not even a little pale. He's been a field agent for twenty years. He's overreacting. He knows that.

He still bandages her up, even though Simmons could totally do it, because he wants to be  _sure_. Skye boosts herself up onto a table in the lab, and when she pulls off her tac vest, she does wince briefly, bites her lip. Coulson takes over, matter-of-factly unbuttoning her shirt, and he gently soaks her shirtsleeve with a bit of saline so it peels away from the wound more easily. She wasn't wrong - it's not even a through-and-through, just a long shallow graze across the muscle of her upper arm - and he cleans it, dabs on some liquid stitches, tapes on a gauze dressing.

"Let's get you an Advil, yeah?" he says, relief bleeding into his voice, and she reaches out, grabs the back of his neck, pulls him in close and rests her forehead against his.

"I'm fine, Phil," she says softly, and he breathes out, lets himself brush a hand lightly over her hair.

"Of course you are," he agrees, and passes her some Advil and her softest sweatshirt.

 

+

 

He still puts them off active field work until her arm is totally healed, and Skye bitches about it a lot but doesn't complain when he tells her they're assigned to surveillance. He doesn't know why she's not complaining, actually. He feels like complaining. Surveillance missions are always dull, even with Skye sitting next to him. Coulson feels like they've been in the SUV for hours. Probably because they have, in fact, been in the SUV for hours. 

"Think anyone's gonna show?" she asks, putting her feet up on the dash. Coulson frowns.

"Feet off the furniture," he tells her, and she makes a face, stretches out a little more comfortably, doesn't move her feet. Coulson sighs and gives her a stern look.

"Hey, guys, you've got a police cruiser coming in to investigate," Hunter tells them over comms. "Think of a cover story, fast."

"Thanks for the heads up," Skye says, and switches off her comms. She climbs into his lap, unbuttons her shirt and pushes it off one shoulder, tugs his tie askew, and Coulson can't do more than gape for a moment. She's got no camisole under her shirt, just a lacy red bra, and he thinks his brain has shut down a little just at the sight.

" _Coulson_ ," she says again, "Phil, work with me here," and he blinks, switches off his own comms, because this isn't something he wants Hunter giving them knowing looks over. She pulls open his shirt collar, shifts a little to get more comfortable, and lowers her mouth to his throat, just above his collarbone. "Sorry if, uh, this might hurt," she murmurs, and then  _bites_. Coulson makes a noise he shouldn't, can't help it, because it doesn't hurt. Being stabbed in the chest with an alien scepter, that  _hurt_. Skye's teeth on the skin of his throat, that's basically the best thing he's ever felt. He tangles fingers in her hair, pulls her away, because if she keeps doing that, it's going to get embarrassing. Maybe it's already embarrassing. She's  _in his lap_ , for god's sake.

She trails kisses up his jaw, licks into his mouth all wet heat and a moan in the back of her throat, and this doesn't feel like the way she's fake-kissed him before, this feels dizzying and heady and overwhelming. She's kissing him hard, pressing him into the seat, grinding into him. Coulson has his hands on her bare skin, his fingers splayed out over her ribs, although he doesn't remember moving. When the police officer knocks, shines a torch through steamed-up glass, Skye pulls away just enough to let him roll the window down. Her hair's a mess, her eyes glassy, lips swollen from kissing, and the officer averts his gaze from her open shirt, eyes up the bite mark on Coulson's throat with amusement.

"Sir," he says, very neutral, and Coulson flushes red as he passes over his license (a good fake: he's Daniel Clark, 42).

"Officer, how can I help?"

"Just checking everything up out here. You're not broken down?"

"No, not- not broken down, officer, just..." Coulson doesn't know how to finish. Skye throws a wicked grin, pulls her shirt closed with one hand.

"Date night," she tells the officer. "I've got three room mates, and  _he's_  got a babysitter looking after his kid for the evening. Soooo, uhhhh. Y'know." The officer laughs, and glances at them both again.

"Yeah, I hear what you're saying. Well, you kids have fun. Keep your doors locked." He hands Coulson back his license, turns away, gets back into his cruiser, and Coulson rolls back up the window, fairly surprised that the cover actually worked.

"I'm amazing, right?" Skye brags, and Coulson rolls his eyes.

"You know there are  _other cover options_ , right? Like, I could probably have talked us out of it. It's like the only covers you know are from watching bad spy movies."

"Hey, you know I didn't go to the  _Academy_ and learn all this stuff, you've just gotta deal," she tells him, presses fingers to the darkening bruise at the base of his throat. His skin feels hot and tender; he's suddenly aware her shirt's still hanging open. He buttons it up, avoiding trailing his fingers over her exposed skin. His hands don't shake, because he's more professional than that, but he'd really like Skye not to be in his lap, actually. (That's a lie, his brain tells him, he wants Skye in his lap forever, he wants her unbuttoning him down to his skin and his scars and his component parts, peeling away all his secrets and defenses. He wants Skye to bite him again.)

The rest of their surveillance is uneventful, and they get the intel they're after, even though Skye lounges around, puts her feet back up on the dash, grouses about the uncomfortable seats. She seems perfectly relaxed, draws him into an argument about whether they can order pizza to their current location. Coulson says no. But he takes them to a McDonald's drive through at three in the morning so Skye can get fries and a vanilla milkshake. He's not sure he really won that round.

When they get back to base, Coulson can still smell Skye's perfume on his skin. He crawls into his bunk, because it's too late to think about it. Instead it invades his dreams, uneasy and fragmented, until he gives sleep up as a bad job, takes a stingingly hot shower and pulls a shirt collar neatly up over the dark circle of Skye's teeth marks on his throat. The rest of the week, he keeps his shirts buttoned right up, doesn't pull his tie loose or open up his collar. When Skye drags him away from his paperwork each night, shoves him down into the kitchen to join the rest of them for dinner, he thinks he can feel her looking for where she's marked him, but when he makes eye contact, she's nothing but professional. 

The bruise fades, eventually. Coulson still dreams about it.

 

+

 

Their next Caterpillar mission is another undercover one. A very different sort of undercover. When Skye meets him in the hangar, he can't help but laugh.

"This is  _amazing_ ," he says, trying to catch his breath. "Seriously, where did you get the  _pearls_ , oh my god. You look like a Stepford wife."

"Shut up," Skye scowls, fidgets with her cashmere twinset. "Anyway, isn't that kind of the point?  _You_ didn't have to dress up at all. This is totally your thing."

"What? No, this is definitely not my thing," Coulson replies, startled. "I'm not wearing a suit and I am wearing boat shoes. That's not my  _thing_ , thank you."

"Whatever," Skye smirks, slides into the passenger seat. "Hurry up and drive or we'll be late."

When they reach their destination, a huge brick building covered in ivy and old wealth, there's a middle-aged man in a  _very_ nice suit waiting to meet them.  _  
_

"Mr Monroe?" he asks pleasantly, shaking Coulson's hand. "And you must be Mrs Monroe. I'm the Dean here. Dean Wilson. So lovely to meet you."

"Oh, call me Allison," Skye says. "I'm still a newlywed, Dean Wilson, "Mrs Monroe" feels so stuffy. Mark, honey, can you pass me my purse?" Coulson passes her the bag (a decent replica of a Birkin, he realises, and wonders how much work Skye's put into this cover). She slings it over one arm, tucks her other hand into the crook of his elbow. "We're  _so_ excited to be here, aren't we, Mark, darling?"

"I'm surprised you've heard of the school, actually," Dean Wilson tells them, leading them inside to his office. "We tend to operate on a, ah, strictly  _referral_ basis."

"Oh, well, you know, Mark and I did a lot of research, because it's just never too early to start inquiring about our baby's future, is it?" Skye says very sweetly, rests a hand briefly on her stomach. Coulson gives her a sharp look, because this is  _revenge_ for him laughing at her earlier, he's sure of it. She beams at him, leans in closer, and he covers by pulling a chair out for her, helping her into it as if he's truly besotted with his gorgeous pregnant wife.

"You're not wrong there, Allison, places at Terra Nova are highly competitive, and you're absolutely doing the best thing for your child's future," the Dean agrees, settles into his leather desk chair and passes them both a glossy folder.

"The thing is, Dean, I think our child's going to be  _special_ ," Skye says earnestly, runs her fingers through her sleek bob. She has a truly enormous diamond on her ring finger. Coulson's reluctantly impressed. "And we just want to know that Terra Nova will be the right place for a child who's special. Really, truly special. We want his gifts to be developed at a young age, you see."

"Of course," Dean Wilson says, "of course. Let me tell you about the programs we offer." He talks earnestly with them for the next fifteen minutes, and Skye plays along beautifully, rests her hand on Coulson's and lightly rubs her thumb across the back of his knuckles as if she's not even aware she's doing it.

"You'll have to excuse me," she says eventually, rises gracefully to her feet. "I just need to pop out for a moment. You understand how it is. Such an inconvenient condition." She leans in, brushes a kiss to Coulson's cheek. "Mark will get all the details from you, I'm sure, won't you honey? Wonderful." She ducks out, and Coulson makes pleasant small talk about when their baby is due (seven and a half months to go, he says, and blushes unaccountably), gathers the rest of the information, distracts the Dean for long enough that Skye has time to plant her flash drives.

"Let me see where my wife has gotten to," he says after about ten minutes, but Skye's breezing back in, all shiny hair and perfect manicure.

"This has been  _so_ lovely," she says brightly. "Darling, we should head off, shouldn't we? Or we'll miss the Thompsons' dinner tonight." Coulson agrees, shakes hands with the Dean, escorts her out.

"Get what you needed?" he asks her, and she nods, slips her hand into his back pocket, leans in closer as if they're really in love.

"Definitely a school for, ah, gifted children. It's like the creepy upper class WASP equivalent of Afterlife, except they're putting the kids through Terrigenesis at, like, four.  _Honey_."

"Newlyweds," Coulson mutters. " _Newlyweds_. Glowingly pregnant newlyweds."

"Hey, it was a great cover," Skye argues, settles into the passenger seat of Lola and pulls Coulson down for another kiss, then waves cheerily at the Dean.

"Yeah," Coulson agrees as he starts up the car, because it was, "except it would have worked better with May and I. You look more like my daughter than my wife, I'm sure they're all thinking of me as a creepy old man on his third marriage." Skye frowns, looks over at him.

"No, I'm sure they don't," she says, sounding concerned. "I don't look like your daughter, do I?"

"Not in the Stepford wife twinset, I guess," Coulson replies, shifting Lola up into flight mode. "But, I don't know. It's a bit trophy wife. I guess that's what they expect, anyway." Skye's frown gets bigger, as if she doesn't like that response.

"What if they knew the truth?" she asks quietly, fidgeting with her necklace. Coulson gives her a startled look.

"What truth?"

"That I pursued you," she says brightly, throwing him an arch smile. " _Allison_ met Mark at work and it was love at first sight. He's so dreamy and sweet and he values her so much. She had to convince him to give it a go despite the age difference."

"Mark's still taking advantage," Coulson replies. "He's too old for her. Obviously. And the fact that he's in a position of power, he shouldn't have let Allison convince him otherwise." Skye looks away, bites her lip.

"What if Allison loves him, though?" she asks, and Coulson thinks of Skye's lips on his mouth and his cheek and his jaw, her sleepy good night kisses, holding hands in the sunshine, her teeth on his throat, her forehead pressed to his. The way his breath catches every time she touches him. Her voice, saying  _Phil_ , in a million different ways. He swallows, hard.

"Allison should find someone better for her," he says, and his voice is rough. Skye doesn't say anything else. They drive in silence back to the base.

 

+ 

 

Skye knocks at his office door a few days later, and he expects her to say something about their conversation, maybe, to push back at his bullshit the way she's done since day one.

"Director, I'd like to request some time off base?" she asks, instead, very polite, and he wasn't expecting that.

"I... we're pretty busy, Agent, what do you need?" he replies, looking down at his paperwork, because he's a coward and he can't look at her face right now. (If he looks at her face, he might kiss her, he thinks, or he might beg her to stay, or he might tell her he's full of shit and she shouldn't listen to him.)

"It's nearly the anniversary of, uh, my terrigenesis," she says. "I'd like some time to myself. Sir. At the Retreat, if possible."

"Granted," he tells her, "you have five days, make them count. May will drop you off."

" _Phil_ ," she says, very softly, and he wonders when she started using his first name so freely, when she started saying 'Phil' in a way that sounds like "I love you" every time. He looks up, schools his expression into Agent Phil Coulson the same way he's done for the last twenty years. She blinks, when she sees it, swallows down whatever she was about to say. "Never mind," she breathes, "thanks for the leave, Director, I'll - I'll ask May." Coulson nods, looks back down, realises ten minutes later he's holding his pen so hard his fingers are aching. He lets out a breath, thinks to himself  _pull it together_. Thinks  _you're twice her age_. Doesn't think about Skye's face, or the way she'd said "what if she loves him?", because  _that's not something he gets to have_ , he thinks, and snaps his pen in half.

He gets ink all over his tie, and throws it away even though it's a favorite. His fingertips stay stained with blue for days.

When Skye returns from her leave, she looks tired, drawn and pale. Coulson wonders how she spent her time, at the Retreat, whether she swam or lay in the sun or slept until noon or watched old movies under a comforter on the lumpy couch. She doesn't look rested. He tries not to worry about her, fails at that, tries not to feel guilty and fails miserably at that too. He partners Skye with May for field work, drops back to running ops from his desk.

"Phil," May says, a month later, setting a mug of coffee on his desk. "You're  _moping_. What's up."

"I'm not- I don't mope, Melinda," he replies, and she gives him a level look, the kind that's never failed to cut through his front. 

"You're moping," she tells him. "Both of you. You're moping  _hard_. You're hiding in your office, and you don't come down for team meals, and Skye's hiding in her bunk and she's  _incredibly polite_ to you, and every time she thinks you're not looking at her she watches you with a kicked puppy expression." Coulson sighs, sips his coffee.

"Skye kissed me," he admits, after a long pause, and May's eyes widen.

"What, here?"

"No, no, on a mission," he clarifies.

" _A_ mission?" she asks, and Coulson winces, because she's known him for way too long to let him prevaricate.

"A couple. More than one.  _Some_  missions. It happened, and then it- kept happening. It was all cover, though. I mean, it was good undercover."

"Phil, how many undercover operations have you and I worked?"

"Oh, jeez, hundreds, I don't know," he sighs.

"And how many times have you ever thought that us kissing would make a good cover?"

"Well, I mean, there was that one time in Belarus," he says lightly, and May scowls, socks him on the arm.

"Apart from that time, Phil, you dog."

"Yeah," he agrees. "It's different."

"How?" May digs.

"When she does it I want to kiss back," Coulson admits, and May's silent for a long time. He's afraid she's judging him, thinking all the things he's already thought about himself - too old, too much power differential, too damaged - but when he looks up, she doesn't look angry, or repulsed, just contemplative, looking down at her hands and the simple diamond band on her ring finger.

"Phil," she replies eventually, "don't make a bad call just because you think it's the call you'd have made two years ago. You're not that person anymore." She picks up his empty mug, turns to go, looks back at him. "And just- make the call, Phil, either way. If you can't do it, then let the girl go. I like Skye too much to see her like this."

 

+

 

The next day, Skye finally comes back to see him. "Director," she says, looking nervous but serious, "please, just, we've got to talk about this, okay, and you just- I made things bad, and I, I shouldn't have, and you don't feel the same about me, and that's fine, I can work with that, but can't we at least be field partners? On mission? Please, Coulson, I  _miss_ you, field ops aren't the same." Coulson stares at her for a moment.  _Let the girl go_ , he thinks, and what,  _no_ , as if he could ever do that. He remembers the times he thought he'd lost her - Puerto Rico, the Retreat, that hallway when she disappeared in a burst of light just as he'd been about to- (to what, take her in his arms?) - and feels his heart contract painfully.

"I don't feel- Skye,  _what_ ," he manages, and her face falls, and he can't deal with that, he can't let her go on thinking he doesn't love her, so instead he steps forward, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her, long and slow. It's not like any of the times she's kissed him on mission. It's gentle, and careful, and comprehensive. He wants to learn her completely. He takes his time with it, lets his lips linger on hers, breathes her in.

"You kissed me," she says, breathless, when he pulls away. "You  _kissed_ me."

"Yeah," he agrees. 

"We're not on mission," she says. "You kissed me because you wanted to."

"Yes," he replies. "Yes."

"All those times I kissed you," she tells him, leaning in until her mouth is very close to his. He just wants to close the gap, to get back to kissing her again, but he waits. "All those times with mission cover. It was never for the mission, Phil."

"I know," he says, softly, and kisses her again. "I was wrong," he breathes. "Don't find someone better, Skye. Don't- just- I was wrong, and I was an idiot, and I love you."

"Oh," Skye whispers. "Oh. That- yeah. Okay. Yeah." 

 

+

 

"So," Skye says, bumping her shoulder against his. "Weddings, huh."

"They certainly are a thing," Coulson agrees, sipping his champagne and giving Skye an appreciative look. "You look good," he tells her, and she grins.

"Still can't do spy stuff in a dress like this," she complains, slips her hand into his. "It's nice, though. To get scrubbed up for once when it's  _not_ a mission to mingle with the bad guys. It was great of May and Andrew to invite the whole team, although I'm a bit shocked Hunter hasn't drunk them dry yet."

"I'm just surprised they didn't elope again," Coulson laughs. "Maybe to Vegas."

"Are you kidding me? I would have never let her hear the end of it," Skye says, seriously. "This is the first wedding I've ever been to. I wasn't gonna give that up."

"Well," Coulson says, setting down his glass. "If it's your first wedding, I guess I'll have to ask for this dance, Agent."

"Phil, come on, you know I can't dance," she says, lets him lead her out onto the dance floor anyway. "I didn't go through the Academy and their weird ballroom class, remember?"

"It's easy, okay, just put your hand here, and look, I'll pull you in  _here_ , and follow my lead, you'll pick it up," he coaches her, steps her into a simple waltz. Skye groans, rests her forehead on his shoulder.

"If I step on you, it's your own fault," she warns him, but he thinks she's just fine, actually. The music's soft, and the lights have been turned down low, and Andrew and May are swaying together nearby. Coulson brushes a kiss across Skye's cheek, just because he can.

"I like this," Skye says eventually, very quietly into his ear. "You ever think about this?"

"What, weddings? It's never really been an option for me," Coulson admits, thinks with a secret smile about his mom's ring sitting in the top drawer of his desk. He's gotten it out of safe storage recently. Just... in case.

"Me neither," Skye sighs, her lips brushing against his throat, "but it's nice, anyway. It has a shape to it." They work through another turn, Skye leaning comfortably into Coulson's grasp as he dips her briefly, and then her hand on his shoulder tightens. " _Phil_ ," she hisses, "do something, god, I'm pretty sure Hunter's about to cut in, and I am so not down for that right now. He smells like a  _distillery._ "

"Sounds like you need some cover," Coulson murmurs. "Perhaps you should kiss me." Skye smirks, gives him a look that makes his breath catch, and then she's kissing him long and hard, her mouth on his, and she's nobody but herself, not playing a cover or a game or a role, just  _Skye_ , kissing him like she means it, and he's finally, finally kissing back.

**Author's Note:**

> @AMidnightVoyage convinced me I needed my own personal #TropeFest2k15. I guess this is some of it. Mission kissing! Fake married! FEELINGS.
> 
> follow me over on tumblr if you want: http://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com/


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